The Lion's Keeper
by ElementsOfSapphire
Summary: Alex Drake is 36, lonely, and has come to terms that (despite her best wishes) she is very much stuck in 1982. But when she finds a ring down the back of her dresser during spring cleaning, she decides its about time to take charge of her life. Naturally, it couldn't possibly go to plan, could it?
1. Prologue

DISCLAIMER: The following story was written entirely for entertainment purposes. I do not own the rights to Ashes to Ashes, the characters, the settings- any of it. All rights and ownership are to Kudos, Monastic and the BBC. I am using them purely on a fan basis; not for money. The story may be taken down instantaneously if it should be desired, and I hope that I have not breached any regulations. I am simply a fangirl who believes this world needs more Ashes to Ashes in it! Thank you :)

(Please mind language!)

* * *

 _ **The Lion's Keeper**_

* * *

 **PROLOGUE**

In retrospect, Alex's plan hadn't gone quite as she'd originally intended. He was meant to be here, outside her door, on hands and knees and grovelling for her to change her mind- to hear him through and accept him into her home and heart.

He was not, however, meant to be walking into Luigi's beaming like a dog with a new bone, sweeping into his regular seat and allowing some brunette to take _her_ seat. This wasn't how it was meant to have spanned; he was meant to be broken, torn, seeing the error of his ways and begging for acceptance. He was not meant to have avoided their regular haunt for the night and turned up the next day with a pretty little thing dangling off his arm.

She could feel herself sway, even despite the support of the door frame, as he glanced across momentarily at her. His fixed smile dissipated, his expression darkening, before he turned his attentions back to his new friend and the smile returned to his face.

This wasn't how she'd envisioned it, how it was meant to go at all, and as Alex felt the first of the salty tears slide across her cheeks, she quickly sprinted back up the stair case and through the front door to her little flat. With the first sob, she tore the ring from her left hand and launched it out of the window- watching with something akin to pride as the streetlamp lit the spot where the jewellery hit his car, and made a decent chip on the roof's paintwork.

It wasn't Alex that decided she should stay in bed the following day rather than going to work, it was the copious alcohol she'd consumed in her attempts to drain the pain that made that decision.

* * *

It had all stemmed, somewhat childishly, from the moment Alex discovered the ring during a deep-clean of the flat. It was a warm, Sunday afternoon- one of the last of autumn- and with the windows wrenched open Alex couldn't help but to be productive from the pleasant air of optimism filling the room. With her worn leggings up and an old-Gene shirt on, she set about hauling the furniture to one half of the room, whistling tunelessly as she went. Soon the bucket and soap was out, and she sat cross-legged on the floor, carefully scrubbing every inch of the skirting board; but it was as she shoved the dresser along that the ring exposed itself, caught between the wood and the wall. With curious fingers she plucked it out, sloshing it in the bucket to clear the object of the collective dust. It was simple; a gold band with two, tiny, sapphires nestled across the top, the metal slightly worn inside as though to suggest regular use. Having run out of willpower, she soon slid the ring on her own finger, and marvelled at how oddly-satisfying it felt to have a ring back on _that_ finger. It was slightly too big, only just staying on her hand as she shook it before her to watch the jewels glisten in the sunlight, but she adored it nonetheless. It was far more to her taste than the ghastly ruby-ring Pete had given her; understated, elegant, perfect.

She revolved it around her finger, cross-legged on the floor with her head resting in her palm. This would probably be the last ring she'd ever have on that hand, she considered glumly, transfixed by the gentle movement. Thirty-six and already condemned to a singleton's life, separated from her daughter and with the chances of finding someone to waste away her twilight years with ever dwindling. She'd known for some time, deep down, that the chances of her returning to Molly had been ever-slimming, and that had been somewhat confirmed a month previously when her daughter had smiled sadly and switched off the television screen, despite her mother's protesting screams. She hadn't heard another word from 2008 since. And she didn't expect she would again.

So this was it, this was how her life would be from now on. Sat like a child on the floor, in a world where she was so alone, dreaming of a life she could never have with someone else's lost ring swiveling around her finger. Alex sighed a deep, unfulfilled sigh, purging herself of her morning's optimism and replacing it with a dowdy sort of melancholy.

She could just imagine herself now, screaming 'YES!' as the love of her life presented that exact ring to her, ripping it from the box, shoving it on her finger and dragging the poor sod to the closest horizontal surface so she could kiss his face off. She could see the wedding itself; demure and primitive with only CID invited, her in a simple white gown- him in a suit and reeking of nerves and whiskey. And the honeymoon- what honeymoon? Who was she kidding! They couldn't be away from London's streets long enough to even consider a honeymoon. So what then? Two nights in Margate? Sounded perfect to her. And then years of arguing, screaming, shoving. Moments of laughter, swift kisses and surprise anniversary trips. It wouldn't be perfect, but it'd be close enough for her. They didn't do saccharine sweet, and come to think of it, neither would their children. They'd be scruff-bags for sure, bright blue eyes and brown, wavy locks; their faces smeared with chocolate that she'd have to scrub from their little pouting smiles every five seconds. Oh yes, they'd inherit daddy's pout alright.

Alex shook herself back to reality with a confident jerk of the head. _Gene_? Out of all the men she'd met in her life, it was the misogynist who married her in her fondest fantasies? What was she even thinking? She tore the ring from her finger and plonked it unceremoniously on the dresser before she returned to washing down the skirting. Gene Hunt didn't do love. Or marriage. Or children. And neither, she thought with a saddening pang, it seemed did Alex Drake.

But it was as she passed her bathroom mirror that same evening, that Alex remembered the flaw in her self-deprecation. Alex Drake was not a woman who wallowed in sadness. Alex Drake was a woman who crossed every bridge and swam under every tide to reach her goal. And if her subconscious was telling her that Gene was her future here in 1982, then who was she to deprive herself of that? She'd lost everyone she'd already loved already, and so with a heavy heart she realised she really did have nothing to lose. Her mind's eye saw the ring, glinting in all its glory and she knew in that second exactly what it would take to make Gene Hunt come begging for her. She wasn't just going to reel in the lion, oh no, she was going to tame that armed bastard, too.

* * *

 **AN/** So that's the start of my latest ramblings, and I hope that you enjoyed it! If you could leave any thoughts in the review, that would be very swish, and I'd be very thankful!

Similarly, I hope that I haven't accidentally borrowed the ideas from anyone else's fanfics on here- this series has been round a fair few years now, so apologies if anything sounds familiar! Let me know and I'll gladly make amends/ remove the story if desired :)

Thank you for reading :) ~ElementsOfSapphire


	2. The Lion That Knew

DISCLAIMER: The following story was written entirely for entertainment purposes. I do not own the rights to Ashes to Ashes, the characters, the settings- any of it. All rights and ownership are to Kudos, Monastic and the BBC. I am using them purely on a fan basis; not for money. The story may be taken down instantaneously if it should be desired, and I hope that I have not breached any regulations. I am simply a fangirl who believes this world needs more Ashes to Ashes in it! Thank you :)

(Please mind language!)

* * *

 ** _The Lion's Keeper_**

* * *

 ** _The Lion that Knew- Chapter 2_**

There was nothing in the world that compared to it, she had read. Nothing in the world that could match the feeling of loving, and being loved in return. Maybe Pete had loved her in some way, in his own twisted nonchalance, but she couldn't remember ever feeling like this- perhaps once, as Evan had walked her to the registry office, but never so consistently, so ardently. It was putrid- in fact she almost despised herself that a man as misogynistic and cold as he could have clamped his paws around her heart and tugged as hard as he had. She was a confident, self-reliant DI serving London's streets, not a love-sick teenager drawing little hearts all over her long over-due English homework.

Yet as she turned her eyes to the case notes smothering her desk, she saw the tens of little tiny hearts scattered across her jotting pad, and her cheeks turned bright pink. Over the cacophony of CID on a Monday morning, the _thwat_ of a dart hitting its board met her ears, and she turned her gaze to the man stood tall, domineering, assertively throwing with an ease developed over the years. She watched, mesmerised that it had taken her almost two years to realise that his little imperfections irritated her so much because she couldn't think of anything more perfect in the world. That his baritone voice only aggravated her because there was nothing she'd rather listen to. That she despised him so much she couldn't imagine loving him more.

It was ridiculous, pathetic even, that they had never even had a proper date and here she was falling head over heels. Ever since discovering the ring it was as though someone had oiled the cogs in her mind and her frozen perceptions melted into clarity. She was stuck, here, in 1982 and she could either make the most of her time or wilt away in her own self-depreciation and wallowing sadness. Alex Drake was not a quitter, she had promised her mother that many moons ago- or only last year- and she had no desire to go back on her word. So if Alex Drake was stuck in 1982 and falling heavily for her DCI, then she was sure as the sun would rise tomorrow that she'd give her everything to be living in 1983, with her DCI.

She froze, like a deer in the headlights, when her reverie was broken and she found the man in question querying her intense gaze with a raised eyebrow. Pink cheeks flushed red as she turned her eyes back to the pages before her and sheets of little love hearts were torn into her desk drawer.

"Drake, my office- now."

The summoning. The collective coolness that both terrified CID, and made her pulse quicken. A feigned air of nonchalance carried her through his office door and into his guest chair as a tiny voice reverberated around her mind: _you're a mess, Alex. You're turning into a great, sopping, mess._

He took the opposing seat, pouring himself a measure of whiskey and drinking it before he considered acknowledging her presence. He was being casual; typical Gene-Hunt-a-la-Monday-morning, but she could read the little tells he thought he hid so well. The involuntary sniffs, the insistent tapping of his finger against the glass rim. His inability to meet her eyes. She knew better than to speak first.

"So then, Bols. You up the duff then?"

 _Well,_ she thought, her eyebrows meeting her hairline, _I didn't expect that one._ She glanced over her shoulder and was somewhat relieved to see his office door shut, and the blinds tightly pulled.

"I'll beg your pardon!?"

"Well I saw the ring. That's the reason most poshies get 'itched, in't it?"

Alex scoffed; he'd already rattled her contented placidity. She'd walked in musing about how she _so loved his aggravating nature_ , and here she was, already cocked and primed to shoot back. She didn't bother to answer; instead she gifted him with a flicked eyebrow and hard stare, and he smirked a little. His favourite little game.

"So who is he then- haven't seen yer fancy man about much."

 _Play it cool. Remember what you practised. Remember the notes._

 _O-Level Drama better pay off._

"I don't see how that's any of your business."

He sat back in his chair, his ankles coming up to cross on his desk before him and the chewing gum stuck to their sole shone back at her. He was trying to show her he was boss, in control, calm, collected.

"I'm yer DCI. I need to know about my team and their 'emotional wellbeing'."

His fingers waggled on the words; imitating her, mocking her. She shouldn't have been as thrilled by it as she was; this game of constant contradictions, of teasing, of heckling. She never kept a score but she always played the match- and she always saw it through.

"Yeah, right. I'm sure you do. Just like you pulled Shaz and Chris in to talk."

Touché; she could read it in his eyes as he refilled the glass and brought it to his lips with a ghost of a smile pulling at their corners. It was downed in one and she would have been impressed had she not seen him do it a thousand times before; she'd have been more in awe had he offered her a glass of her own. It was a rarity, but she was the only one in CID to have been honored so far. She hoped it was a good sign. Clearly, today however, that offer was not going to be made.

"Come on, Bols. Spill the beans. I won't go tellin' them," he flopped his feet to the floor, leaned across the table and poked a peculiarly-well-managed nail at the ring sitting loosely on her finger. She looked down, momentarily perplexed by his change in tactic and was surprised to see his finger lingering on the cool metal, rolling it gently.

"Fredrick Stevenson. He came in a few months ago to inquire about reach out groups for the community."

"Fredrick?! _Fredrick?!_ 'E have one estate or two?"

"Freddy-"

" _FREDDY?!"_ he snorted, pushing back into his chair again. Instantly the table felt lonely, and Alex swiftly curled her hands back into her lap. She resisted his bate however, taking in a cleansing breath as she waited for the man sat opposite to focus again.

"Freddy's dad was a dustman, actually. Despite common misconceptions, I don't actually filter relationships in accordance to 'poshness', you know."

She waggled her fingers as she spoke, watching as his lip curled with a bizarre concoction of amusement and frustration.

"Downton man, eh?" he grinned, nodding pointedly down to where her hands lay entwined in her lap. "Second 'and. Really ain't one of yer poshies then."

 _How can he possibly know it was second hand?_ She thought, casting a curious glance down to the ring herself. It didn't look _that_ old, and it certainly wasn't scratched or anything. To the untrained eye, it was just another ring. _What on earth does he know about jewellery? Surely he can't have learnt that much from blags._

"Oh, Gene, what a strange little ideology of me you must have in that mind of yours."

"Oh, yer always on me mind, Bols. Especially when yer wearin' that." He leered forward, smirking at the top she'd chosen, quite deliberately, to give him an ample _view_. It was so not her, so anti-feminist, but the smile on his lips was worth the mental berating she'd been giving herself all morning. He was so prehistoric with his evident appraisal of her figure, so sexist. But she couldn't help but toy with the thought that maybe, just maybe, he only said that crap to wind her up.

"So yer not actually, yer know…." He nodded loosely towards her stomach, and she found she couldn't quite hold back the short guffaw of amusement.

"No. I am not 'up the duff', as you so elegantly put it."

"Good, 'cos if you were, yer know they'd be Christened 'Jean' or 'Gene', don't yer?"

Something told her he wasn't joking, but she was too busy trying to comprehend the slight gloss to his eyes to pay the topic too much heed.

"Wouldn't dream of anything but, Sir." She grinned, bringing her hands up to fold them neatly on the desk. She was surprised, however, when he took her left hand into his own, warm, one and gently rolled the ring around her finger, much as before. He seemed captivated by it, and she knew better than to comment as she registered that the glazed expression had yet to leave his eyes. He sniffed, just once, and let her hand fall back to the desk, standing up abruptly and turning to look out of his window.

"Right. Good. Well. Go earn yer wages, then." His voice suspiciously stoic, and as she rose to leave, he never turned round to watch her go.

* * *

Gene knew, the moment Alex walked out of his office door, that there was only two possible options for this current situation:

A) This Frederick bastard had found the ring whilst milling in his DI's flat, and had been cheap enough to propose with it; or,

B) Alex had found it herself, and was playing some twisted, messed up game with his conscience for her own amusement.

He knew Alex was a smart cookie, that she wouldn't be duped by a sophisticated bloke pulling out a ring he'd found in her own home, so he dismissed that theory almost instantaneously. But why would she want to play games with his psyche? Why on earth had she walked into CID wearing his grandmother's ring and declared that she was getting married to some made-up jockey?

Or, he thought with a troubled mind, had she finally gone over the edge? He'd always thought it peculiar that a woman of her beauty and intelligent should remain single for as long as she had, but what if she'd finally cracked? Had the distress of her separation from Molly driven her over the edge and started up a whole little fantasy world for her?

Or…. Or…. Maybe she wanted to make him jealous- push all his buttons and see how he'd react? She couldn't possibly see him the way he tried his hardest not to see her, could she? Cats in a basket, she was gorgeous. Those incredible, endless legs. The almost-too-perfect figure. Big, green eyes. The wavy, glossy hair. Her ability to contradict him and stand up to what she believed in. Her smile that shot straight to her eyes and glistened all evening. Her savage argument skills and raw strive to do well.

She was, in a word, incredible.

He couldn't possibly be right, could he?

Gene turned to survey his outer office, looking though the blinds to his own, little, den and out to the congregation before him. She had just taken seat at her desk, and was looking up in thanks at Shaz who'd delivered today's report to her desk. She seemed brighter than usual, and he noticed with curiosity that she blushed heavily when she looked round and met his gaze.

 _Well then_ , he thought as she hid her face in her reading, _two can play that game._

* * *

 **A/N:** Well there's chapter 2 then folks! Chapter 3 should be the final (and you can probably see where its heading- #predictable) but it will be filled with copious amount of cotton wool, for those needing a bit of the ol' Galex fluff. Thanks for reading, and if you could let me know what you think/ what you'd like to see happen next, please feel free and I'd highly appreciate it :D ~ElementsOfSapphire


	3. How Could She Have Known?

DISCLAIMER: The following story was written entirely for entertainment purposes. I do not own the rights to Ashes to Ashes, the characters, the settings- any of it. All rights and ownership are to Kudos, Monastic and the BBC. I am purely using them on a fan basis; not for money. The story may be taken down instantaneously if it should be desired, and I hope that I have not breached any regulations. I am simply a fangirl who believes this world needs more Ashes to Ashes in it! Thank you :)

Please mind the language in this chapter- some swearing occurs!

* * *

 **Chapter 3 - How Could She have Known?**

Alex sat at the bar, her finger idly tracing the rim of her glass, when Gene Hunt eventually sauntered in with the pretty little brunette to his side. What wine had been swilling in her mouth was hastily gulped before she could spray the bar in pure shock and her eyes followed the duo to _their_ usual bloody table, and all but popped from her face as Gene pulled their chair out to allow his lady-friend to sit.

It had been only a few days since she had spoken to him in his office, and she'd managed to escape his clasp ever since. Her plan had been to provoke him, to tease and leave him with such a sense of relief when she finally took seat at their usual table following weeks of restraint that he would practically fall into her arms. And yet, here she was, succumbing to her own need weeks before scheduled, dressed to the nines…. And watching the man in question walk in with a woman cat-walk perfect, and looking undeniably stunning in her perfect little skirt suit. Looking the enemy up and down, Alex became washed in a sudden, equivocal sense of embarrassment towards her own attire. She'd wanted to please him, to go against her every twenty-first century feminist vibe and wear something 'slutty' just to make sure her intentions hit home. It was only just gone six but her attire spoke of nightclubs and bars past 1am. Her hair was pinned behind her ears with glittery slides, her make-up blue as usual and pasted thick across every invisible blemish. If kitten-heels were short then her's were appropriately lion, elongating her perfect thighs and leaving her so tall that Luigi would stare directly at her chest without a choice on the matter. But her dress was what was now leaving her feeling ashamed and cheap, its smooth black velvet a second skin as it finished miles above her knees, the neckline her only saving grace as it lay high on her chest in favour of the missing back panel.

She'd known she'd have felt alright sat beside him; his usual possessive gaze would have kept her own hooked and away from the prying gaze of the others in the trattoria. She'd never had worn it in 2008, knowing a man should appreciate a woman for her personality, not drool over her looks like some slab of meat, and now she felt exposed, on show for all as she sat high on the bar stool. The ring on her finger suddenly began to burn, claiming her for the idiot she'd obviously been and it took all her effort to resist launching it directly at Gene.. She probably would of, had she not had enough 'Dutch Courage' to knowingly put her aim off kilter. Rather, she downed the dregs of her drink and threw herself from the bar only pausing at the door which separated the bar from her steps to risk a glance in his direction. To her horror, his eyes were already piercing in her direction and burnt straight to her soul. Completely blank, but entirely accusing. She hastily turned to hide the first of her tears, wincing all the way up the steps and into her flat at how badly she'd interpreted the entire situation. Three days he'd thought her engaged and he'd already moved on to newer, better models. Three days and she couldn't believe the odd sense of satisfaction which came as she launched the ring from her hand, and watched it take a sizeable chunk of paint off his car's perfect paintwork.

"Was that _her_?" inquired the pretty brunette, nervously pulling at the sleeve of her suit jacket, the wine before her remaining untouched.

"That's her." Gene agreed, turning his eyes to glance back to the door she had disappeared from, "That's Bolly."

His eyes lingered in that direction from some time, the gulp from his drink that dragged him back to his guest just that little too melancholy. Knowing better than to comment on what she'd just witnessed, she instead smiled politely, plunging her hand in his direction.

"In which case, if you'll have me, then I'll kindly accept your offer."

"Good," he said with a nod as he shook her hand with as close to a smile as he could allow, considering their location. She retracted her hand, her confidence finally having finally planted itself, and she took a large gulp from the liquid before her. Gene pouted his approval and ordered two more drinks from a dazed and hassled looking Luigi, confident that he'd just made an excellent decision, and an even better discovery.

That was, most definitely, jealousy he'd witnessed just then. He was sure, but then, he'd know.

He'd felt it often enough.

* * *

"Wakey- wakey, Drakey. Its long since little DIs' should be at their desks."

Beside the sofa on which Alex slept, still fully dressed with a single shoe perilously close to flopping off her dangling foot, the long-abused phone had clicked to answer phone. The ringing had barely torn her from her broken night's sleep, but she knew better than to answer it. If the time on the clock opposing her had been right, she could predict the voice that would soon greet her via the answer phone; and she had been right.

His voice was the last she wanted to hear right now, and the thought of facing CID still half-drunk and watching them whispering amongst each other was not something that she could call at all appealing at that point in time. She'd much sooner lounge on her sofa and just hope that eventually, maybe even slightly, the world would stop spinning.

"Ok, it's half past eleven. Get your lazy arse into office now or I swear-."

She'd shut her eyes for all of two seconds, and yet somehow two hours had passed. Alex couldn't help but to groan at the sound of her superior officer's voice as it continued to rumble around her flat. Couldn't he just leave her in peace and let the pounding in her head claim another victim?

She gingerly leaned across, snatching the phone from the receiver and unceremoniously slamming it down again, affectively cutting off Gene at the other end of the line. She closed her eyes in contentment, happy to finally be greeted by the silence she no less than thought she deserved when the incessant ringing rang out again. Once again, she let it click to answerphone.

"Right, fine, ignore me. But I expect you at 23 Larch Lane at 5 tonight for an investigation on Super's orders or you'll be out on your arse quicker than Skelton on a Quiz show. Understand? Good."

She wasn't sure if it was a blessing or a curse. Perhaps facing Hunt away from the prying, knowing eyes of CID would make it somehow easier- but could she really imagine herself being civil with him? Could she really wander around a crime scene without picturing the nameless girl from the previous night peering over his shoulder, mocking her, teasing her, without reacquainting his cheek with her hook again?

Who knew? But one thing she knew for sure was that if she'd didn't make an attempt to rise from her slumber now, she'd never make it in time.

She'd dressed far more demurely than the evening before, opting for dark jeans and a long, baggy jumper to hide any figure and feminine shape that was usually exposed. She'd tried several times to apply her casual electric blue make-up, but each time her artistry seemed to worsen, ending in two panda- circled bruised looking eyes. She'd snapped eventually, wiping any traces from her face and scruffing her hair back messily behind her ears. She'd felt drunk still, lethargic from the pain-killers and suffering from a heavy bout of low self-esteem and self-pity.

* * *

She pulled nervously on the sleeves of her oversized jumper and she waited outside the instructed address. She noted that his car had been pulled up on the drive to the side of the semi-detached house, the passenger door flat to the wall where he'd had no need to make room to let her out. The suggestion lay heavy in the air that he had little intention of offering her a ride home, either. It had darkened early that eve and the house had no porch light; Alex felt uncharacteristically weary of being alone on an unknown doorstep, and the only factor leaving her feet planted heavily in their position was the comforting pull of the his beloved wheels not yards off. He may have moved on pretty sharpish, but somehow she doubted that he wouldn't not protect her should a situation arise.

After a good minute or two, the front door was pulled open and Alex pulled out her ID bade off instinct, lifting it and announcing her name before her eyes had adjusted to the sudden outlet of light, blinding her from all but the silhouette of the person holding open the door. It was only after she'd replaced the leather slip into her back pocket that she looked up once more, and came to realise that she was standing face-to-face with her new-sworn arch-nemesis.

The woman from _Luigi's_.

Gone was the perfect suit and swept-up hair from the previous eve, and now Alex found herself confronted by a woman clothed in comfy joggers and a hoodie not dissimilar to her own. Her mouth opened and shut as she struggled to formulate any words other than those she'd already said, confused as to the presence of the younger woman. Was she another copper? Had Gene been interviewing this other woman as a possible replacement for herself?

"I'm Alice." The other woman introduced, scraping Alex from her staring reverie. "Gene's asked that you meet him in the dining room. It's the one on the right."

 _Gene?!_ _On first-name basis, are you?_

Alex looked to where Alice had just indicated, nodding blindly and mumbling a 'thanks' in response. The younger woman smiled meekly and let Alex through, closing the door behind her as she left the house herself. And so _the_ DI Drake found herself feeling stumped in the middle of an unfamiliar hall, wondering quite how keen her DCI had been to replace her with finding a woman whose name wasn't even dissimilar to herself, and wondering why the woman had left before their evening had even begun. The chiming of a clock in some distant room brought Alex once more back to her senses, and she took the opportunity to scope her surroundings.

The house itself appeared to have been built around the 1930s, with its narrow staircase and high picture rails. The hall was covered in a sort of deep peach paint, which when mixed with the dark red rug stretching down across the stained floor-boards, Alex had to admit made the entrance a rather cosy one indeed.

As she stumbled, still somewhat perplexed, along the corridor, she heard through the first door the softened echoing of a live darts match being watched on a television. The light flickered below the door, spilling across the wood, but no other sounds of life emanated from within the room. The opposing door was also shut tight, but from the smells lingering in the air, she felt comfortable with the idea that the door led to the kitchen. The smells in question were not unappealing and were reminiscent of an early afternoon in _Luigi's_. Garlic, tomatoes, and an assortment of herbs she'd grown to know so well. Whoever they were investigating clearly knew how to make a house feel welcoming. And how to cook well, for that matter.

With a ginger hand, Alex finally pushed open the door that Alice had directed her to. And it was not, on any level, what she had been expecting.

Absent were the PCs and Inspector's she'd been, well, expecting. Absent were the case notes and folders for briefing she'd imagined. Absent, in fact, was the sense of anything relating to CID at all.

Instead was a large, mahogany table, decked with candles and a large bouquet of flowers. The lights were off and in the dim lighting the red walls and stained wooden floors looked impossibly warm and inviting from the slight chill outside. A cabinet to the right sported a collection of perfect china plates, intermingled here and there with vintage pistols and services knives from wars gone past. The plates on the table were steaming with oodles of pasta with some sort of ragu dolloped on top, the glasses beside filled with something that probably wasn't blackcurrant juice, and sat, like a lion ahead of his prize at the opposing end of the table, was DCI Gene Hunt.

He stood, walking round softly to pull out a chair and indicating with a subtle nod of his head that she should be seated. She did so, gingerly, noting to her psyche that this was the first time she'd ever seen him in jeans and a jumper, and that she wouldn't die happy if she never saw the ensemble again. He looked at ease, cosy, dare-she-say-it, completely edible in his off duty attire, and she wondered momentarily if her sloppy outfit was truly as embarrassing as she currently felt it was.

He pushed her chair in for her, forever the proper gentleman tonight, and let his hand trail deftly against the back of her neck as he walked back around to his own chair. It was a gesture so unaccustomed and unexpected that Alex couldn't help the small jet of air she inhaled. The mystery of the entire scenario had her encapsulated, and she found herself too dumbfounded to consider much farther than _should I say hello?_

"Ragu, Bols. Said it were your favourite once so I pinched the recipe of Luigi 'imself. Would have done Sole, but we've been there before and I'm not big on fish meself."

He speared and twirled the spaghetti before himself, but Alex could do nothing except watch, still captivated by his off-duty self, and the whole situation. With a resolute sigh, Gene took up another forkful, but rather than delivering it to his own mouth he leant gently across the table and spoon fed his mute colleague.

"S'nice," she concurred as her DCI leant back to his own seat, diving back into his dinner like a starving man.

"Same on your plate, sweet-cheeks. Eat away."

And so, cautiously, she did. It was a taste she was extremely familiar with, thanks to her life living above a trattoria, and she was semi-convinced this was just a warmed-up batch of her usual favourite. After several mouthfuls, Gene sat back, taking a moment to watch his extremely self-conscious DI for a moment before he opened his mouth to speak.

"So why d'you think you're 'ere, Bols?"

Alex replaced her knife and fork on the plate, unable to continue eating under Gene's fierce scrutiny. The hum of the television from the reverberated around the otherwise-silent room, and she suddenly became very aware of what one of his suspects must go through during an interrogation.

"I thought it was a meeting in relation to the current investigation, Guv," she began, feeling it necessary under the unusual circumstances to address him as her senior officer, unsure for once how to read the situation, "but it appears not."

"No, it doesn't, does it? Unlike yourself, I like to inform my colleagues when there's t'be a big change in me life."

Alex felt herself freeze, an image of Gene and 'Alice' from the night before clouding her mind. She thought it best to speak cautiously, give herself time to compose herself for the worst.

"And is there?"

"Mm." He concurred, pulling a cigarette from a packet on the dresser just beside him and puffing it alight via a conveniently placed candle on the table before him. "'m movin' back to the promised land of Manchester."

The air burst from her lungs, sounding itself between her lips as a puff of pained astonishment. She couldn't help herself.

"What?! Who's – I mean – has it got something to do with _her?_ "

"Well I figured with yer knew fella, you wouldn't want yer ol' DCI tripping on yer shoes every night. But no, she's there one buying me house of me. Signed the contracts this evenin' and I'm off next week."

"What?! And you only thought to tell me now?"

She couldn't sit at the table, had to move about, exercise the shock and anger bubbling up from within.

"Mm," he puffed from his cigarette, frustratingly nonchalant for the situation, "its upsetting, in't it, Bols, when yer told something too late ter change it"

"What's CID supposed to do without its DCI?! Does the Super even know?"

"Took a leaf out of yer own book, kept it to meself."

Alex braced herself against the window frame, looking out at the bruising purple of the London skyline beyond. It was just like when she had first arrived here- suddenly everything she knew was being thrown off-kilter, and like a puff of smoke from _his_ cigarette, the urge to fight and holler back was dying in the embers. The constant changes in this dystopia was leaving her exhausted.

From behind her, she heard the scrape of a chair, and soon enough she could feel the heat emanating from his body stood behind her. She didn't feel the need to turn around.

"So you're just going, just like that."

"You got engaged, just like that- what's the difference?"

"It's not about me!" she snarled, the embers re-ignited by his infectious proximity, "It's about you- developing this whole mystery meal crap and announcing you're leaving… _just like that_!"

"Like I said, didn't think you and Mr Fancy-Man would want me around- doin' yer a favour. Yer a sure fire for my replacement, set yer up right good."

"For crying out loud, Gene, he's not even _real_!" Alex sighed, stepping out of his bubble and away from the judgement she'd been expecting. She'd thought he'd snap, bite the bullet and give her rotten for lying, accusing her of having a corrupt sense of humour, mocking her feeble little excuse of an entrapment plan. But instead she was greeted by silence, and when her curiosity finally piqued, she pivoted to find her DCI smiling at her, his boyish grin almost, well, joyous. Alex stilled, stumped.

"Why are you smiling like that?"

It wasn't a joyous smile, she noted with a sudden jolt of realisation, it was that of a _knowing_ one. She bristled, how did he always have one up on her?

"Using me own Grandmother's ring…. Nice move that."

He threw the cigarette into her wine glass, and delved into his pocket, plucking from it the same ring she'd flung at his car only days before. The candlelight picked out the jewels, and had she been watching the whole scenario from a film, totally out of context, she might have sighed at the romantic edge of the scene herself. But as it stood, Gene Hunt had finally rendered the great DI Alex Drake completely and utterly silent- for the second time that evening.

"I-I found it at the flat," she breathed, taking it from his fingers to marvel it in her own, taking a closer inspection to confirm that it was, indeed, the exact same ring.

"And do yer want it?"

She smiled, melancholy, apparently having forgotten that her DCI, the man she was utterly in love with, had just announced he was leaving her life for good, and that she had just been found out for weaving him a great, fat lie. For that one moment, all she could think about was how wrong the whole scenario was. She'd planned, all those few days ago, that he would be grovelling at her door, begging for her to not marry Mr Fake man, and to take him into her life instead. And yet here he was, presenting her with a wedding ring, catching her out, with not an apparent ounce of interest in her what-so-ever. He'd caught her out and he was down-right proud of himself. Oh yes, he'd, caught her out, and she couldn't have been more distraught if she tried. She felt numb to the situation. Completely warn out, and utterly, entirely numb.

"He's not real, Gene," she breathed eventually, delicately placing the ring back into his out-stretched palm. Her gaze was stuck to the floor, her head hung in shame, was it? He wished she'd look up, so the joy behind his slim grin, his fierce contentment that he'd been right from the off- that he was the lucky bugger she'd only gone and fallen for.

"No, but I am, luv"

He noted her mouth upturn gently into a brief, satire smile -but it soon dissipated once more. She made no move to look up, so he gently lifted her chin with his spare hand, a gesture so calm and doting from him that he almost surprised himself. He was on a knife's edge right now, about to make what could be the making – or the breaking- decision of his life, and with no one from CID around, he wasn't about to bugger it all in the name of looking macho this once.

Her eyes were glossed, swirling with confused, complicated emotions, but were fixed on his mouth as though too afraid to meet his own gaze. She watched intently, incapable of doing much else, as he formulated the next few words.

"So, what d'yer say. Wanna wear it fer me?"

"I-." It was a noise, not a statement as she'd hoped, that rushed from her mouth. Her entire world had lost balance and flipped upside down, yet again, and she was unsure where she was even being taken this time. Had he just… no, he hadn't, had he? Was that a _proposal_? They hadn't even been speaking recently, let alone exchanging pleasantries, or courting, or dating. They'd never slept together, lived together- they'd never even kipped on each other's sofas _sober_ before. But there it was, that same ring being presented to her gaze, and as her eyes finally, eventually met his, despite from the inkling suggestion of nerves darting beneath, they were filled with the startling confidence of a man who knew exactly what he wanted.

His spare thumb, the one which had tilted her head, skimmed across her lips, as his eyes darted down for approval. She nodded dumbly, understanding very little of the situation, but wanting nothing more than to finally feel his lips upon hers. And _yes, yes, yes_ , she decided, it had very much been worth the wait, thank you very much. She'd known he'd be different from the Lion everyone thought him to be when it came to her, call it a sixth sense, her psychology, anything, but she had been so right, and it felt so good. He was gentle, sensitive, letting her take what she fancied, letting her lead the way; _ladies first_ , wasn't it? She couldn't help the little sound that emanated from her mouth as he deepened the kiss, the purr of satisfaction at finally getting what she wanted- feeling the love of the man, for reasons even she didn't understand, she'd become completely besotted with. With several soft, open kisses he finally let her go, smoothing the hair which had gone stray back to behind her ears, skimming his thumb across her cheeks.

"Easy question, Alex," he breathed, once again raising the ring to eye level, "Yes, or no."

* * *

And so after more time than I dare to admit, we have chapter 3 - slightly longer than usual to make up for the delay. There shouldn't be too long before chapter 4 can round up the questions: what will Alex decided? Exactly who is Alice? Who was watching TV in the other room? Will Gene move back to his beloved land?

Hope you all enjoyed, and it would be FABULOUS if you could drop us a review to let us know!

Many thanks for reading :)


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